


And it’s Getting More and More Absurd

by BourbonNeat



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Bad Days, Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 23:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3547736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BourbonNeat/pseuds/BourbonNeat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days, Jeremy decides, no good can possibly come from getting out of bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And it’s Getting More and More Absurd

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is fiction, it never happened and is not meant to imply anything about the people who appear in the story.

Jeremy’s back hit the wall of the portakabin with an angry thud, every sulkily slouching inch of his posture radiating the same scowling warning to anyone foolish enough to have followed him outside. Not that anyone had, naturally.

 _A well trained crew, this_ , he thought with a bitter laugh. Stared moodily out at the track as one hand almost unconsciously began to fish through his pockets for a badly needed fag.

Health and bloody safety and their last minute revoked permissions. Co-presenters who couldn’t be arsed to turn up on time. Guests who couldn’t be arsed to turn up at all. And paps who seemed to excel all too readily at both tasks. Because yes, he delighted in shocking the uptight with his words but, honestly, who in their right mind could have predicted that some overly sensitive twat would interpret that like, well, _that_?

Some days there was just no good that could possibly come from getting out of bed. Pity he could never manage to fall asleep in one for more than an hour or two consecutively at such times, or he might have been smart enough to just stay there today.

His hand finished its restless search. Fuck. They weren’t there.

Of course, James and Richard never had any such trouble with his words. They always understood him perfectly. Which, now that his breathing had slowed and his head had started to clear, felt like a far worse problem. Especially when he stopped to consider exactly how many of his most recent words he’d like to have back. Remembered Richard’s hurt glare and James calling him a bastard in a voice that lacked any of the usual exasperated affection.

Christ but he needed a cigarette. A second, more vigorous rummage through his pockets forced him to admit that the pack he’d opened all too early that morning was sitting on the table in the portakabin. Probably right next to his lighter. Because, of course they were.

Jeremy sighed, a sound by now far more miserable than angry. How did he come to be so woefully unlucky? There was nothing else for it, he’d have to go back in. 

Just as soon as he could summon the energy for the right amount of bluster and snark to make everything right again. Or, at least, to be loud enough to get everyone working again until things just sort of blew over on their own. Probably.

He didn’t even hear them approach as he gave his pockets one more half-hearted pat, willing the cigarettes to appear. He just looked up at the solid thump against the wall to his left to see James, blue eyes wide with a great deal more sympathy than Jeremy felt he had a right to expect, wordlessly holding up the missing Marlboros.

Jeremy took them from his hand gratefully, his lips quirking up slightly in the most hesitant of hesitant smiles. He refrained from any further comment, unwilling to risk breaking the peaceful spell, and silently withdrew a fag from the pack. He hadn’t even processed Richard’s arrival until he reached back into his pocket for the lighter that simply was not there. Hearing the unmistakable click, ting of flints to his right, he turned to find the younger man waiting to give him a light, which he accepted appreciatively. Was that a hint of laughter he saw in those warm brown eyes, or just his own wishful thinking?

Jeremy inhaled deeply, feeling the familiar smoke fill his lungs, the faint tickle at the back of his throat, that small modicum of instantaneous blissful relaxation when the nicotine hit. Eyes closing briefly in relief, he settled back against the wall. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look, feared that accidental eye contact might suddenly prompt the inevitable talk. But he could feel James and Richard settling close beside him, could hear the telltale sounds of their lighters, the puff of lips against filters, and that old familiar rhythm of inhale, pause, exhale that marked so much of their shared time between shots. The comfortable normality of it did at least as much to relax him as the cigarette he pressed to his own lips, and slowly, surprisingly he felt the tension begin to leave his body, fancied he could see a little more of it drift away on each long, lazy puff of smoke.

And somehow, through it all, Richard remained quiet. He didn’t wear his silence particularly well, fidgety arm bouncing restlessly against the leg he had propped against the wall, clearly bursting to say something, to make noise. Yet he refrained. Jeremy noted the effort and appreciated it. His hand itched to reach over and ruffle artfully mussed hair or rest on a broad shoulder, but he didn’t quite dare.

As if reading his mind, Richard shuffled closer, pressing firmly against his side and nudging Jeremy companionably into James on his other side – James, who merely shifted the cigarette to his other hand and didn’t move away. Jeremy sighed with the beginnings of something almost like contentment and felt the tight muscles in his back relax still further. By the time he flicked the fag end into the bin that some resigned soul had finally just left outside for them, he found that he was actually calm enough to speak. After a fashion.

“So. I probably shouldn’t have said – I’m…” He paused thoughtfully before finally settling on, “Thank you.” Honest, heartfelt words his lips could willingly form.

James laughed and there it was, the exasperated affection. “Oh, make no mistake, Jezza. You’re still a bastard.”

“Yes,” Richard agreed squeezing his hand tightly. “And you’re buying the first two rounds after filming tonight. Possibly the third.”

“And we’re all staying at yours after, or mine, and that’s final,” James continued.

“Right. And no more excuses about scripts and deadlines and needing to sleep.” Richard’s tone was warm but would tolerate no argument. “Because we all know that’s bollocks and you aren’t.”

“And then what?” Jeremy asked, too touched to trust his voice to anything other than sarcasm. “Make me apologize I suppose?”

James finally pushed off the wall to stand in front of him, a mischievous smile lighting up his face. “Yes Jezza, exactly. Apologize long and hard.” And then James kissed him, a warm, tender press of lips that was over all too quickly. A willing, unprompted sign of affection outside the safe confines of home or hotel room.

“Yes, and until you finally sleep,” Richard chimed in, pulling Jeremy down for a kiss of his own.

How on earth did he come to be so bloody lucky?


End file.
